


Shifting Circles

by gala_apples



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Aromantic, Body Modification, F/F, F/M, Hair Kink, Tattoos, metal, play piercing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23595421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: The circle's ambient magic has left scars, over the years. Those changes are some of their favourite things about each other.
Relationships: Trisana Chandler/Daja Kisubo/Briar Moss/Sandrilene fa Toren
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Shifting Circles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the body modification prompt for seasonofkink.

Briar knows when Sandry needs piercing. It has nothing to do with their mental communication. While they all do occasionally share desires, fantasies and experiences that way, it comes up less frequently than an outsider might think. They have lives beyond sexual desire, and often can’t afford to be distracted. No, he can tell by the way she holds herself, the way she begins creeping towards Little Miss Nobility, taking on the traits she holds at her worst. Bringing her back tends to be Briar’s task. Daja’s too quick to forgive when annoyed, and Tris snaps and fights back. That’s not to say the girls never have sex when Sandry’s in a mood, but they don’t do this. This is for Briar alone.

Sandry is stunning, naked on his bed, belly down. He’s made that perfectly clear in the past, and so he doesn’t say it now. Instead Briar gathers her auburn hair into a ponytail in his fist and draws it to the left shoulder, so her back is bare. In a clean pot to Briar’s side is a great number of needles. Far more than Briar ever uses, but when Daja forged a hundred to give her blessing, he didn’t have the heart to say they wouldn’t need them. He plucks the first from the pile and pinches the skin just under her shoulder blade before plunging the needle through it. There’s no mistaking the fluttering sigh that comes out of his duchess as the needle gains purchase.

It isn’t a task for the faint of heart, pushing a few dozen needles into a lover’s skin. Nor is it accepting them. But there’s no question that Sandry loves it, Briar can see her relax with each pinprick. He wonders if part of it is that people don’t hurt nobility. Even when that naliz Fin kidnapped her he merely imprisoned her, he didn’t touch her. Everyone is lilyhanded the moment they realize she’s Vedris’ heir. Hurting is like seeing beyond that, like knowing her. If that’s what she needs sometimes, Briar can give it to her.

*

Tris is not in love with Briar. Nor is she in love with Daja or Sandry. She’s not sure she’s built to love. Not because House Chandler stripped her of the capacity in her harsh younger years, although that was Tris’ best explanation for a long time. Now though, she’s come to terms with it. Some like the same gender, some like both, some feel their god placed their spirit in the wrong physical form, and some, like herself, do not love. At least not romantically. She does deeply care for a handful of people, and she never would have taken Glaki had she thought herself unable to nurture her. Sandy and Daja and Briar can find romance amongst each other. She will stand to the side of that deep pond and never yearn to wade in.

Which is not to say she’s entirely out of the relationship. They share the Cheeseman house, as well as a wing at the Duke’s estate. They’re constantly in each other’s space and routines. And they share beds. Tris doesn’t love Briar, but she loves his bed, and his hands. They’re beautiful, truly. The constantly blooming and changing gardens on his hands are the perfect example of magic gone awry, and yet nobody suffered for it. In contrast to her own magical mistakes, which cause a very real chance of death, Briar’s are only chaotic beauty. 

The position he’s in now, the way Briar has her against the wall she can’t actually see his hands. Except that’s unacceptable. So as Briar fingers her to orgasm, Tris uses her magic to coax breeze where she wants it, and then scrys the wind. It’s a perfect shot of zinnia laden skin plunging into her. What woman wouldn’t feel beloved with fuchsia and orange fingers expertly twisting inside her depths?

*

What Sandry’s recently learned is that living metal doesn’t feel much if at all different than true skin. Maybe slightly unnaturally smooth. After all, metal doesn’t have any of the creases and folds a normal hand does. But for the most part it feels the same. It’s really the look of it over the texture that excites Sandry. It gleams, unlike the dull matte of normal skin. 

It gleams, and shines, and catches the light when Daja is rubbing her hands all over her nude body. Sandry’s dress is discarded on the floor and it’s a bit of work to ignore the haughty fabric screaming about not wanting to be wrinkled. It’s hard to regret the hastiness though, when it results in the gliding orange of living copper caressing her breasts and stomach and thighs.

“I love you.” To say it to anyone else beyond the circle it would be a risk, a weak spot in the thread. Like Shan in Namorn, preying on her to get what he wants for his life. 

“My saati,” Daja replies, and Sandry knows she’s safe. She can let go, a feeling she doesn’t often have.

*

It amuses Daja, sometimes, how similar their hair can be. A seaborn Tsaw’ha and a merchant from Capchen, coal black and pale as milk, sturdy and thin wristed, tall and short. A million differences between them, and yet they both take the time to maintain long, fully braided hair. 

Tris’ is special though, Daja knows. It’s not just a hairstyle, it’s the tools she needs. Unlike the rest of them, it’s impossible for Tris to ever have her mage kit stolen. Enemies can’t even untie it in her sleep to strip her of her stored power, it would lash out and destroy them. Daja knows the idea scares Tris, and she did learn her lesson about unchecked lethal power with Bennat, but there’s just something she finds sexy about the braids. Mayhap it’s the metal in her core enjoying the act of compression. Or it could be the attention to detail, the same as what drew her to all the best smithies on her trip up north. 

Whatever the reason for her attraction, it all lands Daja in the same place. Specifically, riding Tris’ face in the reading room. Tris’ head is braced for Daja’s weight with several pillows, but Daja can reach enough to run her fingers overtop all the scalp braids. With Sandry and Briar, Daja can sink her fingers into their locks. Tris can’t afford that option, of course, but there’s a different attraction in skating her fingers over her woven hair and knowing the power laced in it all. _That’s_ the magma braid, _that’s_ the earthquake braid, _those_ are the lightning braids. It’s all so incredibly impressive. It definitely makes Daja wetter than she would be with a stranger, mage or not.


End file.
